


The Gift That Keeps on Giving

by moon_opals



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fandom Secret Santa 2019, Love Letters, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:42:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21849859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_opals/pseuds/moon_opals
Summary: With Christmas approaches, Webby searches for her beloved ornaments but stumbles upon a surprise lying right under her beak.
Relationships: Dewey Duck/Webby Vanderquack
Kudos: 22





	The Gift That Keeps on Giving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rikareena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikareena/gifts).



> For DuckTales Secret Santa 2019! Happy Holidays!

Webby and Huey continued their Christmas decorations throughout the years. No one asked. No one complained. Year after year Huey allocated which ornaments were to be placed on the tree and where, and year after year Webby re-allocated every ornament, altering the balance he’d worked so meticulously on. Although annoyed, he conceded to her creative spirit - silently hoping she’d stick to the plan the following year. She never did. But it was a minor annoyance in the grand scheme of their celebration, and every Christmas ever after was as special as the last one, except for the first Christmas since Della’s return. 

“I need the ornaments,” Webby groaned. On her knees she searched on the closet’s bottom shelf, pushing aside old, dusty boxes and other forgotten items that had no business being there. The Phantom Blot’s mask. Yen Sid’s magic hat - an ancient relic on loan. An unusually large blade in the shape of a key - Donald’s, apparently, also on loan. She grunted as she dragged the blade across the floor, and paused, pressing her sides as she caught her breath. 

Ornaments. Where were her ornaments? Granny left them on the bottom to mid shelf for easy access, always had, though Webby wouldn’t put it past her to move them up a shelf or two for protection. She had checked the toppermost shelf and didn’t see them there either, and she knew she hadn’t missed a spot. It wasn’t like Webby to miss spots, but if she did, she made sure to bring her trusty night vision goggles, used when she flicked off the light. Sighing, she reasoned searching where it obviously wasn’t wouldn’t produce her desired results. Granny would know, she brightened, and she spun around, ponytail bouncing excitedly down her back.

Webby didn’t have to walk long. She knew the manor like the back of her hand and the back of her favorite battle axe. Memorizing every stray corridor and crooked corner, frequently leading to some arcane dimension, was a feat she accomplished at thirteen. At thirty-two, she didn’t have to look at the back of her hand or battle axe or even the directory installed in the foyer, revealed only for family and friends. She simply knew, and she intended to use her inherent knowledge to find her ornaments when she heard sounds below. Pausing in the middle of the corridor, she turned to her right, leaning over the railing. Her eyes glistened, enthusiasm growing, and she squealed at familiar green and Louis Vuitton luggage at his feet.

Walking was a bygone thought at this point. Webby calmly climbed on top of the railing and extended her arms in a leaping position. The guests below recognized this position, and though their eyes widened with slight surprise, they shook their heads kindly, familiar with her antics. She slid down the tree using her good arm, and she laughed the entire time, shouting their names in quick succession. “Louie. Nix. Bette. Huey. Sam.” She landed on the floor and shot towards them without a second to lose. 

“Louie,” she squeezed using one arm. “Huey,” she squeezed using the other. Her friends wheezed and gasped and struggled to breathe, but they didn’t complain. In fact, despite her strength, they managed to return it completely, using their arms to tighten their hug. At last, their embrace ended, and she returned them to the ground, clapping.

“I didn’t expect you so soon,” she breathed. “I flew in yesterday.” Her eyes rolled to the others standing, “Hi Nix! Bette! Sammy!” 

Nix opened his mouth to return her greeting but was swept up in a similar hug. Bette stepped back, avoiding contact. Sammy patted Webby on her shoulder. “Alright, Webbs,” she grinned crookedly, “we know you’ve missed us, but let the guy breath, kay?”

“Oh, right.”

Still, he hugged her all the same, and soon, they went upstairs to their room. 

“Can you carry my stuff, honey,” Louie asked.

Bette glanced at the oversized luggage. “You do know you can carry it yourself,” she replied grouchily.

“But,” he batted his eyelashes, “you’re so tough and strong and -,”

“Not even Bobbi can get away with that,” she griped, glancing at Sam and Huey. “Where’s your munchkins?”

Sam chuckled. “Ay, we left ‘em outside,” she motioned over her shoulder, “but I think they’re getting down to business with Bobbi out there.”

Nix tsked softly. “I hope they’re not causing too much trouble.”

“Tilly knows better, or is it Vonnie.” Huey stared ahead, frowning softly, “Ronnie knows, mostly.”

“None of our kids are smart enough to not get into trouble,” Bette commented. “Nix, get the trolley. I’ve got the trunk.”

Webby stared, worried. “Wait, it may be a little heavy for you.”

“No, no,” Louie reassured, “they’ve got it.”

And they did. She picked up the trunk with all the ease in the world, almost as easily as Granny would’ve, and she marched up the steps, griping that Scrooge McDuck - richest duck in the world - couldn’t afford an escalator. Nix shook his head, smiled over his shoulder, and blew a kiss to Louie, and followed her trail. 

“I’m glad they’re getting along,” Webby smiled. 

“Yeah,” Louie massaged his neck, moving his right leg behind his left. “I think they like each other more than they like me.” 

“Probably.” But there was no time to debate. Webby couldn’t and wouldn’t stop gushing about their most recent albeit individual adventures. Sam was in tune enough to discreetly depart for their room, leaving Huey with his luggage, but if he happened to forget there was no cause for alarm. “Duckworth’s around here somewhere,” she said, grabbing their wrists as she pulled them into the labyrinth that was McDuck Manor.

“Y’see I was in the Amazon when I came upon a boto.”

“A boto?”

“It’s an enchanted dolphin.”

“Mmmhmm...and what about you?”

Surreal was what it was, Webby discovered as she listened to their stories, which wasn’t nearly as dangerous as she’d assume. Huey had taken to his Governing Lieutenant Commander Junior Woodchuck of International Discovery and Education, also known as G.L.C.J.W.I.D.E. He traveled to weeks end, working more as an archaeologist and educator, but he enjoyed teaching, even if it took him away from his Sammy every now and then. But she was more than happy to join him when she was inclined to, which was often. Louie was busy running Louie Inc., now a legitimate business alongside Waddle’s new CEO.

“Boyd’s way better for the company than Beak could ever be,” he explained. “Also after the whole Blue Fairy incident he doesn’t have to worry about outliving everyone he loves.”

“Wow, sounds amazing.” Webby tiptoed, “What was she like?”

Louie shrugged. “Well, she ain’t no sugar plum fairy,” he smirked. “Dewey was impressed, to say for sure.”

Dewey. She blinked. Right. “Where is Dewey,” she said, finally pinpointing that unusual absence, “I thought he was flying in today.”

“A little tonight,” Huey corrected. “He and the troupe did an encore performance.”

“Ah,” she hummed knowingly, “the troupe. I read about their recent performance. Five star review.” 

Huey grinned proudly. “He’s really come into his own.”

“With Don Karnage’s help,” Louie added slyly. “I was sure he was going to eat him.”

As...unorthodox as it was, Dewey had found a strange kinship with his former nemesis. Applying their strengths and improving their weaknesses, they founded the Dewford - Don Karnage Theatre Troupe, a flying sensation that performed in all the major and smaller cities across the world and dimensions. It was the most popular and tweeted about sensation.

“Oh yeah,” Louie said. “Just coming late. No one wants a repeat of last year.”

No, no one didn’t.

“I doubt we will,” Webby encouraged, feeling to the bottom of her heart it was true. He hadn’t made it last year, a consequence of the troupe’s success, but he made it for New Year’s. She’d placed her disappointment in a deeply buried box, smooth covered and velvet skinned, and let it fall into the deepest depths of her disappointment, almost forgotten. Webby knew she’d never quite forget the feeling that struck her heart when she realized - alongside everyone else - that Dewey was not going to make it to Christmas. 

It was a new year. A better year, and she was not going to spend her holidays lamenting on her slight disappointment a year ago. She turned to Huey with a peppermint smile. “I can’t find the ornaments,” she admitted lamely, “I need your help.” Huey responded as expected. He grinned so broadly, so excitably, to an extent no one questioned when he procured his aged, lightly ragged on the corners clipboard. Louie rolled his eyes, grumbling about finding Uncle Scrooge, and slowly slipped on an alternative path they weren’t inclined to follow. Webby knew the path. It was the one Nix and Bette had walked. 

“Did you check holiday closet,” Huey asked.

“I did.”

“And the kitchen pantry?”

“Yerp,” she nodded.

“How about the garage?”

Webby paused. “No,” she said flatly. She missed the garage. The garage was the second most obvious place to look. Why did she miss the garage? “Granny never leaves them in the garage,” she said to herself. Huey chuckled, patting her shoulder.

“She never puts them in the kitchen pantry either.”

It was so they searched for their beloved ornaments. Uncle Donald was with Daisy and Storkules, mandatory last minute shopping at Storkules insistence. Della and Penumbra planned to arrive later that night after helping Harmony complete their Christmas decorations. For now, they searched for their beloved ornaments, traveling from closet to closet until they wandered into their old bedrooms. 

“Wait, Webby,” Huey paused, opening another box. He looked at her strangely, suddenly realizing something he’d forgotten. “Isn’t the attic in your room?”

Webby blinked. “I have an attic.”

Huey sighed. 

The ornaments were in an attic - Webby’s attic to be precise, hidden under a dusty quilt. Upon opening the box, they found their beloved ornaments in pristine condition. “It doesn’t look like nothing was broken,” Huey sighed, grateful. “Okay, we’ll take these,” he hoisted them with ease and huffed softly, “and it’ll get started.”

Webby didn’t respond. On her knees, her attention had snagged an unusual box, smaller than the cardboard one their favorite Christmas ornaments were. She raised the medium sized box to eye level and inhaled sharply, pupils dilating. Huey groaned above her. 

“Webby, we have to decorate the tree.”

“And we will,” she replied, noting his exasperation. “But everyone won’t arrive until tonight,” she set it on her lap and began to unwrap it. Seeing her mind was made up, Huey huffed and shrugged, spotting an opportunity to return to Sammy. He grinned, nodded, and disappeared out the door, toting the heavy box of ornaments. They jingled inside.

“Hm,” she hummed, she rolled the aged paper into a ball. As per holiday tradition, she wasn’t supposed to open this box until Christmas morning, and as per respectful boundaries, she had no reason to open the box in the first place. It wasn’t addressed to her. It didn’t have her name written on it. But it was...without a doubt, an old gift, having collected dust and cobwebs. Free from its covering, Webby opened the box by removing the top, and a gasp flew out of her mouth.

A sweater - poorly tailored but lovingly so, stared back at her. The primary color was a light lavender surrounded in poorly stitched but painstakingly clouds. She grabbed the corners and lifted; the texture was scratchy, uncomfortable, and it was three sizes too big. An envelope fell out, landing in the box, and she placed the scratchy sweater on her lap. The paper had aged, gone from white to yellowish cream; the paper inside was the same. She unfolded it, softly, and in the pale light she read.

“Daisy and Storkules say the way to a woman’s heart is through art,” the letter read, “so I decided to make you this!”

“Love Dewey,” Webby whispered. A whistle blew outside the window, and she clutched the letter in her palm, swinging the sweater on her arm. She stopped at the window and stared ahead as an airship descended, songs blasting out of the speakers attached within the missile launchers. It wasn’t a hard guess whose voice projected the loudest above the rest, and a small smile came upon her beak as she saw the lift open once the airship landed. Her heart fluttered at the sight. He was older, taller, but no less…

“Dewey.”

The letter crinkled in her grasp, and she turned away from the window, slipping the ugly sweater on. It was itchy. It was three sizes too large. She understood he was guessing at the time, expecting she’d broaden out like her grandmother. If only she inherited her bulk. Life was unfair like that sometimes. Sometimes, just sometimes, life offered your hand me outs, and you didn’t question it when you received an ugly sweater made of adolescent infatuation a decade after the fact. 

Webby giggled and skipped out of the room, smile booming and heart beating fast. She hoped he wouldn’t mind her apparel. She hoped he didn’t mind her answer.

**Author's Note:**

> To my dear friends who allowed me to use their OCS (Rea and Scout), thank you, and I hope you have a wonderful holiday. I can't see the boys with anyone else at this point!


End file.
